When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 4)

He urged her off quickly before anyone could ask why and how she had managed to keep the queen from entering Westminster Abbey when five prizefighters had not been able to.

And, as it turned out, the official report published in the papers and letters described the altercation as happening outside of the abbey, on the steps, with the five men holding off the queen’s procession on their own. There was never any mention of a beautiful young woman with dark hair and a stick in her hand.

Shortly after the queen’s disappearance came the news that the king was to be delayed due to a torn piece of clothing, and after that, the rest of the coronation ceremony—though horribly long and boring in Victoria’s opinion—passed without incident.

Not until nearly three o’clock did the party move from the abbey to Westminster Hall, with the newly crowned king and his twenty-seven-foot train. The train was embroidered with gold thread, and the pages (real pages, not the prizefighters) who managed the long length of fabric kept it spread wide so that all of its glory could be admired.

The king tottered a bit when he at last left the abbey; sweat streamed down his face and he looked pallid and gray. However, Victoria knew that was not due to anything other than an excessive amount of fancy clothing— including unseasonable ermine fur—and an extremely long, hot day. The king of England was not a vampire.

Nor was he dead.

But Victoria was quite certain that he, and possibly others of his trusted advisors, were in great danger.

In the hall, three hundred people ate from long tables that traversed the length of the vast, high-ceilinged space. Victoria consumed little in her attempt to move about and keep her attention honed for any unusual happening. Still, it was daylight, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized that if anything else was planned, it would happen after the sun went down.

“When the sun goes down,” said a deep voice in her ear, almost an echo of her thoughts. Victoria nearly jumped and turned to find Max behind her. He still wore that hooded expression, and refused to meet her eyes. He seemed, instead, to be fascinated by her earlobe . . . or, more likely, something beyond her shoulder.

“Of course,” Victoria replied stiffly. “Lilith wasn’t foolish enough to think that the queen could enter the abbey, even if Caroline herself thought she could. I don’t believe for one minute that that was the extent of Lilith’s plan.”

“The king,” Max continued as if she hadn’t spoke, “should be leaving the hall shortly to return to Carleton House. The sun will just be setting. I suspect that will be the time we’ll need to be our most vigilant.”

“I’ve already come to that conclusion,” Victoria snapped, then realized he’d gone, slinking away into the crowd before she could reply. “We?” she added in the direction to which he’d disappeared.

She turned away and found herself face-to-face with Lady Melly, who wore a forbidding expression. “Where have you been?” she asked with a smile on her face and a bite to her voice. In fact, the pleasant smile necessitated that her teeth remained ground together, and the words came out rather . . . clenched. “I’ve hardly seen you since we sat for dinner, and you certainly didn’t attend us during the procession.”

“I told you, Mother, my slipper became soiled and I had to return home just before the procession started in order to change it. You wouldn’t have wanted me to attend the coronation with soiled slippers, would you?” Victoria lied blithely.

“Gwendolyn Starcasset has been looking all over for you,” added Lady Melly in a slightly mollified voice. “Do come and make your greeting to her so that she will stop prattling to me about her wedding plans. I daresay,” she continued over her shoulder as she started off, towing Victoria behind her, “it’s as if no one has ever married an earl before. And Brodebaugh isn’t all that is, but she certainly can say nothing but praise for him.”

Victoria allowed her mother to drag her through the crowds to their places at the long table. To her surprise, she found Sebastian present, with Gwendolyn and Brodebaugh. He appeared to be fully enjoying his meal, and Victoria realized how hungry she was, despite the bit of food she’d already had. It had been a long day, and, if she and Max were correct, it would be even longer before the night was through.

Thus convinced to ease on her vigilance for a time, Victoria sat next to Gwen and proceeded to field questions about where she’d been and what she thought of the ceremony . . . and had she seen Rockley?

Victoria could only answer in the negative, and instead turned the conversation back to her friend’s favorite topic: her nuptials, which were to take place in three days.

“I daresay, I’ve slept nary a wink, between plans for the coronation and my wedding,” Gwen said, smiling. Victoria thought her expression still looked a bit weary, and she wondered if all was well with Brodebaugh.

Or George. He and Sara were conspicuously absent.

But before she had a chance to ask Gwendolyn about any of them, she caught sight of Kritanu. He was in a balcony overlooking the diners, and he tended to stand out due to his darkly complected appearance. He seemed to be gesturing to her.

“Excuse me, Mother,” Victoria said, leaning toward Melly. “I thought I saw Rockley.” The excuse was guaranteedto justify her exit, and when Lady Melly’s face snapped toward the direction Victoria indicated, her daughter took the opportunity to escape.

Kritanu met Victoria and said, “The king is readying to leave.” She glanced toward the table where George IV sat, and her companion continued, “I heard the order given moments ago. I’ve managed to obtain a position as footman to one of the coaches in the procession.”

Victoria nodded. “Be safe,” she told him. “Do you know where Max is?”

“He’ll be there.” Kritanu disappeared in the crowd of people, leaving Victoria to try to catch Sebastian’s attention.

Outside of Westminster Hall, the sun had dipped to the edge of the horizon. As the king was climbing into his coach, the news came floating back to the bystanders: two overturned carriages had created a great accident, blocking the route by which the king usually drove to Carleton House.

He would have to take a different course, through the slums of Westminster.

Victoria caught Sebastian’s eye and nodded. This had to be it.

With Barth’s assistance, they obtained saddled horses and started off in the direction the king would be traveling, able to move faster and more easily than a coach and procession.